Teenage Dream
by Pretty Persistent
Summary: I might get your heart racing in my skintight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight.


**A/N: Definitely needed some more Carma around here! This one is pretty Emma-centric, but I promise to do more with those two, very soon.**

**I really hope you guys like the idea. Let me know what you think! Happy reading. :)**

**

* * *

**

You don't think you have ever smiled this big, in your entire life.

Okay, you're actually a little terrified, as absurd as that may be. But you have never done anything like this before. Of course, you might have tried once or twice, back in high school, but it never really worked out. It just wasn't for you…

But now? Now, things are different. You've never had someone pushing you out of your comfort zone; encouraging you to do things you never imagined being able to handle. But he makes you feel confident and beautiful.

This time, you know you're ready.

The space is a little small, and uncomfortable, and you're pretty sure it hasn't been sanitized within the last twenty-four hours. But when it's all over, you find yourself quite satisfied with the result.

You're still smiling. You don't even bother pulling your skirt back on, as you take a second to marvel what you're now holding.

Size 3, dark-denim wash, low-rise, boot-cut, GAP jeans.

XXX

It's Friday, 5:45am, when you reach into your closet. Your row of pencil skirts and floral dresses are taunting the one, lone pair of pants. You pull them out, sparing them from the torment, silently praying they won't receive much of the same, once you're at work.

Once they're on, you release your breath. They fit just as well as they had in the store.

You put on a fitted, white, button-up shirt, with three-quarter length sleeves. You fold over the ends, and then begin the great debate, over whether or not to leave the third button undone. After glancing at the clock, you decide to leave it open.

You buckle on a pair of burgundy mary-janes and throw a beige bag over your shoulder, before heading out the door.

You have just enough time for one quick stop, before work.

XXX

The little bell rings, as your push the door open. Self-consciously, you smooth down the already fitted denim over your legs.

You politely decline the receptionists' offer to assist you. He's already standing outside his office door, talking with one nurse, while the other cleans a patient's teeth.

"Emma!" He spots you, flashing a smile, before glancing down.

You shrug, attempting to reciprocate his grin, as you meet each other halfway. He pulls you into a hug, lifting you off the ground, as you kick your feet back into the hair. Then you're back on the ground, getting lost in his green eyes, again.

"You did it! Why didn't you tell me you were going shopping?" He reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, his soft fingertips grazing past your temple.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," you mutter, blushing.

"You look… _beautiful_," he tells you. But he's staring straight into your eyes.

You lean your head against his chest, taking in his scent of Axe, mixed with the clean smell of his office. "Will you come over after work?" You're not sure how today is going to go, and all you want is the reassuring arms of your boyfriend, just like right now. You would stay here all day, if you could.

"Of course, baby." He lifts your head and kisses you softly, his mouth moving over yours, slowly, and gently. "Have a good day at work, Emma."

"You, too," you tell him, giving him one more quick peck, before you leave.

XXX

"Woo woo! Looking good, Miss P!" You hear David Karofsky chant, among the hollering of the rest of the hockey team, as you make your way to the office.

You look down as they pass you, unsure how to respond. You know you're supposed to be confident, but accepting a compliment like _that _from a student wouldn't exactly be appropriate.

Slinking off to your office, you sigh at yourself, making a personal promise to do better the next time.

XXX

After third period, Rachel Berry slips into your office. She glances around, as if she is trying to go unnoticed, but you're not sure what she is trying to accomplish, given your office is lined with glass.

She sits down in front of you, smoothing her plaid skirt beneath her legs, as she does so. "Ms. Pillsbury, I need your advice. It's very important."

"Okay, Rachel, what can I do for you?" Under the desk, you cross your legs, and suddenly your own limbs seem extremely foreign.

Rachel glances around, for a moment, then leans in, significantly lowering her voice. "How do you do it?"

You lean in, a little, lowering your voice, as well. "Do what?" you ask, with a smirk. Sometimes, you can't help but find Rachel's dramatics slightly endearing.

"The… The pants," she says, in a hushed tone. "I'm just not sure I could pull them off. I mean, I never would have thought _you _could pull them off…"

You blink a few times, trying to shake off her insult. You're the one wearing them now, aren't you? "Rachel, it's just clothing…" You try to rationalize with her, even though you were struggling to overcome the same mindset, less than a week ago. It makes you feel a bit better, though, knowing that someone else is bringing up such an odd problem.

"Finn has been _begging _me to wear jeans. Did the dentist tell you to wear them?"

You fight an eye-roll. Ever since he visited the school, everyone at your work has only been able to think of your boyfriend as 'the dentist'—well, except for Santana, perhaps… "He _encouraged _me to wear them, Rachel. But I bought these jeans for myself. I wanted to feel more comfortable in my own skin. And I think that's important, but you should never compromise yourself, to please another person." You think back to a time when you had been in that position. But it all feels like a distant memory, since Carl helped to pull you out of it.

"Really, Ms. Pillsbury? That's all I wanted to know. Because quite frankly, denim does not typically come in plaid or argyle." She smiles and nods at you, before getting up and walking out, confidently swishing her pleated skirt.

You sigh and shake your head. When you stand up, you're just as confident, feeling the material form around your figure.

XXX

You leave your office to go to the staff lounge for lunch. Each time you walked through the halls today, you felt better and better. People weren't as surprised as you though. Of course, you can chalk that up to a lot of it being in your head. But you're starting to like the way they make you feel. That even at work, you can feel a little… s_exy_.

By the time Will gets to lunch, you're already sitting down, pulling out a single container of both red and green grapes. Will points at them, winking, and gives you a thumbs up. You roll your eyes at his sarcasm.

He sits down across from you, pulling out his own lunch—a sandwich and a cookie, like always. You smile, softly, to yourself, unable to suppress the thought that maybe he's the one who needs a little less structure in his life.

"Excited for the weekend?" he asks you.

"So much," you say. After all your worrying, this morning, you're already worn out, halfway through the day.

You watch, uncomfortably, as Will leans over the table, struggling to keep his sandwich from falling apart. You stand up and go to grab a bottled water out of the mini fridge.

"Hey, Em, could you get me—."

You turn your head over your shoulder, wondering why Will's question suddenly trailed off, only to find his eye's _drilling _into your backside.

You feel your face instantly light on fire, as your snap your head back towards the fridge. You attempt to bend over in the least seductive way possible, but the tightness of the denim provides a struggle. After grabbing two waters, you dart back to the table, sitting underneath it as quickly as possible. "H—Here you go," you say, extending a water bottle to him, avoiding his eyes.

"Emma…" He lazily reaches out for the bottle, nearly dropping it. "You look… _wow_. What's with the sudden change in wardrobe?"

"I just… I just wanted to try something new, I guess," you mutter, uncomfortably, feeling your face grow more and more flush by the second.

"I like it. I like it a _lot_," he informs you.

"Thanks, Will," you say, quietly, and quickly, urging him to drop the subject.

The remainder of the lunch period is awkward, as you can tell only one thing is on his mind. He's hardly able to make conversation. You're annoyed that he's cheapening your confidence, treating the situation like this. But you're through letting his behavior get to you, no matter how immature.

When the bell rings, he claims that he's staying back to make a quick cup of a coffee, and of course, lurks by the door, as you exit.

XXX

Later, Sue passes you in the hallway.

"Alba, that's completely inappropriate. This is a professional workplace," she mumbles, not even bothering to make eye contact with you.

"Sue, you're wearing a track suit!" you stammer, in a high-pitched voice. It's casual Friday. You have seen plenty of other female teachers in jeans, today.

"Excuse me?" she says, in an arrogant tone, finally stopping, in the middle of the hallway. "I'm a physical education teacher, Alba. I am wearing exactly what is expected of my profession. You, on the other hand, need to appear put together enough to handle the hormonally imbalanced teenaged population of this school. But we both know you're _not_."

You feel the front of your head begin to throb, and your stomach tightens. But you're the same woman as you were last year. You haven't let Will push you around, and you're certainly not allowing Sue that ability.

You take a deep breath. "Sue! My name is _Emma_. Emma Pillsbury. And I am _damn _good at what I do. And you know what, I'm far better working with children than you will ever be. And I am sick and tired of you telling me otherwise!"

"Huh," she says, calmly; without expression. "Maybe you are the one wearing the pants in your relationship, for once."

She turns and walks away, but you smile, perfectly content to leave it at that.

XXX

You practically fall through your front door, out of exhaustion, releasing a heavy sigh, as you step inside and remove your heels. Just for today, you toss your bag onto the landing. Carl beat you home—you gave him a spare key—and is already sitting on the couch, watching television.

"Hey babe, how'd it go?" he calls out to you.

You make your way over to the couch and sit beside him. He quickly tucks you beneath his arm, as you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

"It was alright… I liked wearing them, though," you tell him. At the end of the day, you were feeling better about yourself. It was a pretty silly thing to have to overcome, after all, but you're glad you did.

"Well, that's all that matters, then."

You tilt your head up to smile at him, only to find that he's smiling down at you, too.

"Thank you for always taking me seriously," you say, softly, trailing a few kisses along his neck.

"Why wouldn't I?" He leans his head down to find yours, gently capturing your lips. Your mouth molds to his, as he lingers there, momentarily, taking your breath away.

Something somewhere between a shaky sigh and a laugh escapes your lips. You can't help but squeeze your eyes shut and smile, in delight, as he holds you. Shifting, you slide one leg over his lap, straddling him on the couch.

You lean your forehead against his, brushing your noses together. "No one makes me feel as pretty as you do… No matter what I'm wearing." You whisper, lips tingling as they graze over his.

"Because it doesn't matter, Em. You will always be the most beautiful woman there is."

You place your hands on either side of his face, kissing him, again, more passionately; eagerly this time. Slowly, you glide your fingertips down his arms, grabbing onto his hands. Pulling them behind you, you slip each of his hands into either one of your back pockets, losing yourself in his gentle touch. You bring your arms back forward, running your fingers through his dark hair, while slowly pulling your lips away.

"Thank you, for finally allowing me to believe that."

And he did. More than any article of clothing ever could.


End file.
